The Wrestler
A short story: “…Dwarkanath Pundir wished to smile again…”
He watched from his window as the little boy jumped off his bicycle and into the old man’s arms. The smile on the man’s face was one of bliss, of knowing that he would be survived by a family that loved him. This young boy in his arms was reason enough to live on for a couple more years and to keep making the daily trip to the family store.
The grandfather and little grandson talked for a few minutes more, the child receiving a welcome lollipop from the right pocket of the old man’s light blue kurta. From his window, he watched as the two stepped into the store and then closed his eyes for a few seconds.
Dwarkanath Pundir wished to smile again. He wished to have a grandson, much like the seth across the street. He wished to have a son who would visit him from the city during the winter months. He wished to have a caring daughter-in-law for whom he could buy gifts during Diwali.
For Dwarkanath, life was now confined to this little town and to the four walls and roof of his dimly lit quarters in the Sarai Bheem Singh district near the Government Cantonment. He had lived here for the past twenty-one years, and during that time no more than seven or eight people had ever stopped to look in on him, to even see if he was alive.
His interactions were limited to early morning salaams from the youngster who delivered the milk, Chetan, and to the occasional conversation about the weather or the district elections with Pritpal Singh, the ration store owner with the crooked teeth and one eye.
There was also the monthly trip to the Post Office to deliver the rent to the landlord, Pundit Munir Singh, who also doubled as the town’s Head Postman. Munir Singh owned the three rooms adjacent to Dwarkanath’s and had offered to rent the fourth to the old man when he had returned to Sitapur in 1974 from what was to be his final stint as a circus performer.
It was the same year that Sitapur had been carved out as a district and officially recognised as the heartland of the Bundelkhand region. Munir Singh had never spoken more than a few words to Dwarkanath each time he visited the Post Office over the course of his years as tenant, but would send over a box of sweets every Diwali. Dwarkanath had never been able to return the gesture because he had nothing to offer; managing the rent of Rs. 125 had been difficult enough. Yet there were no hard feelings from Munir Singh, and life went on the way it did between the two old men; a monthly exchange of rent money for a nod and a question of health to which Dwarkanath’s reply was always a jaded smile and a reassuring remark.
*
To any aspiring and enthusiastic journalist wishing to make his or her mark by canvassing the many unique stories often unearthed in small-town rural India, Dwarkanath Pundir’s would have made for nostalgic yet romantically tragic reading. Born in Muzaffarpur in 1927, Dwarkanath had been taken to the wresting akadhas at a young age and returned fascinated by the strength and suppleness of the loin-clothed men who battled it out before an audience of enthusiastic onlookers. In no time he had decided that this was what he wanted to do and he set about working himself into a strong, barrel-chested young boy.
Having lost his parents to malaria when he was just three, Dwarkanath had been raised by his uncle Rajendra, who first introduced the young boy to wrestling. Rajendra assured Dwarkanath that if is wrestling was what he wanted to do then he should embrace it and do his best to succeed in it.
As a result of his hours of crude yet effective muscle-building exercises – lifting iron bars, bricks and hanging from the rafters of his uncle’s horse stable – as well as endless dipping push-ups and deep knee bends, Dwarkanath’s height had been stifled somewhat, and he remained shorter than the other pahelwans at the akadha. This did not deter him at all, and he soon found that being shorter was better for him, and his exploits were to become famous in the town. After being admitted into the Veer Jawan Akadha, Dwarkanath soon found success at the school and local district level, and by the time he was nineteen he had been crowned District Champion and was headed for the Mahindra College Tournament in Patiala.
He landed in Patiala as an excited, fit wrestler unaccustomed to defeat in the akadha, having fought with only amateur village wrestlers. Still, local contacts and his uncle Rajendra’s support had seen that he was enlisted in the Patiala tournament, and Dwarkanath found himself in the midst of wrestlers twice his size and with considerable experience. His first two duels were victories against middle-weight Sikhs from Allahabad and Meerut, but in his third match he found himself defeated in under seven minutes by a huge pahelwan from Dhotian. The match had drawn a sizeable crowd since Dhotian was a village that turned out many successful wrestlers. The crowd was clearly backing his opponent, known simply as ‘Dhaula’, and Dwarkanath was unable to cope with the weight that this huge pahelwan thrust upon him.
Dwarkanath was disheartened and ready to return to Muzaffarpur when a local akadha guru named Vikrant Pratap Khalsa took him aside and told him to visit his home the following morning. Obviously intrigued by what the guru has to say, Dwarkanath arrived at his doorstep the next day and was taken inside and greeted by Khalsa. After a twenty-minute discussion in which Dwarkanath’s questions were shunned by a craftily influential Khalsa, it was agreed that Dwarkanath would join the guru’s akhada that same evening. Unable to contact his uncle back in Muzaffarpur, Dwarkanath made the decision to follow the guru’s advice and arrived at the akhada.
What followed was an intensive three-week training session at the watchful eye of Khalsa that had Dwarkanath pitted against the best of the akhada. Dwarkanath defeated nine out of eleven opponents faced during those three weeks, after which he was taken to other akhadas in the area. It was clear that this young pahelwan had talent, and keen to cash in on this, Khalsa enlisted Dwarkanath in other tournaments in Punjab.
His biggest achievement was defeating one Hukum Dilawer from Punjab University in a fascinating forty-seven minute duel in Jalandhar in 1941, after which he had been marked out as ‘special’. Khalsa then promised to introduce him to the Great Gama, also known as Rustam-e-Hind, a champion who had made a name for himself after returning from London in 1910, defeating Ben Roller and Stanley Zbyzsko. There was even talk of arranging for a fight with Raj Bansi Singh, the former champion from Calcutta, and this had pushed Dwarkanath to focus and train even harder during the summer of 1948.
But things took a sad turn: his uncle was suddenly taken ill by a severe bout of bronchitis, and Dwarkanath returned to Lucknow to be by his side. Rajendra Singh passed away within a week of his falling sick, and Dwarkanath now found himself alone. There was no one else to care for him. The stable was taken over by one of Rajendra’s senior employees and Dwarkanath found himself facing the prospect of working as a stable boy or returning to Jalandhar to pursue his wrestling. Rajendra had always been there for him with suggestions and words of advice, but without his presence, Dwarkanath saw Vikrant Pratap Khalsa as the only man who could guide him. Saddened and unsure of what his next step in life should be, he returned to Jalandhar.
Upon his return Khalsa informed Dwarkanath that he was to journey to Delhi and join a European circus that would take him overseas and give him the opportunity to duel with foreign wrestlers. Khalsa convinced the naïve Dwarkanath that it was becoming the norm in the United States and Great Britain for promoters and managers to import foreign wrestlers to challenge leading wrestlers, and it was with this promise that Dwarkanath agreed to join the traveling Ringwald Circus that made a stop in Delhi in the autumn of 1949. He had been confused and unsure as to what a circus was, and the reassuring words of his new guru that he would find great success while with the Ringwald Circus sent Dwarkanath to Delhi.
Thus had begun a dispassionate career as circus wrestler for the Ringwald Circus – one which earned Khalsa a fine remuneration for providing the conniving manager with a robust and raw wrestler - at first performing throughout Africa and then on to Russia and Paris and Beirut, all for decent pay but with little chance of escape. Once sucked into the seedy world of the circus it was hard to get out, because travel took up much of the year and there was little chance of finding a job in the few days off every six months that the circus crew had when they returned to India.
Dwarkanath had been shocked to find out that many circus shows were based on fake tricks and fraud of audience; most wrestling matches were in fact staged with predetermined outcomes. He never did get the chance to wrestle with leading wrestlers in the West, and soon resigned himself to the fact that he would remain a circus performer. Dwarkanath had not been very good at studies and had relied on his athletic ability to earn a living.
The initial years consisted of duels with fellow wrestlers wherever the Ringwald Circus travelled. Being the only Indian, Dwarkanath had been given the title “Bheema of India” and this stayed with him until the day he was forced out of wrestling with a bad back. The arrangement was that Dwarkanath would lose two matches a week; this rotation policy of wins and losses was the same for all the wrestlers. Dwarkanath came to accept this somewhat grudgingly but as he got to know the other wrestlers and circus performers and their tales of hardship he put aside his anger and disappointment and focused on the task before him.
Once, while in Moscow, Dwarkanath and a fellow wrestler, Changez, had slipped out to a tavern, far from their employers and the paying public, where fellow wrestlers had converged to engage in their own, fair battle to determine who was the strongest. Dwarkanath had finished third among a group of sixteen wrestlers, and returned to his fellow circus performers the next morning feeling somewhat content and after years, with a smile on his face.
In later years, Dwarkanath’s routine expanded to performing all manner of classical strongman feats, including lifting several stage weights such as dumbbells, barbells and kettle-bells. He also performed back lifts extensively while on tour, which had led to his condition.
*
Dwarkanath was suddenly shaken from his faceless reverie by the sound of young boys’ voices below his balcony. He looked through the bars of his window and saw the neighbours’ children, Samarth and Dwij, excitedly reading a yellow poster glued to an electric pole. Dwarkanath leaned forward to try and catch what the boys were reading off the pole, and caught most of it. There was a travelling circus coming to Lucknow.
Intrigued, Dwarkanath turned and reached for his cane. Years of wrestling with clowns and lions and performing various circus tricks had brought slowness to Dwarkanath’s actions and he now moved at a slow pace. Descending the steps to the street below somewhat gingerly, Dwarkanath walked over to the electric pole and read the news that would further excite him.
Would he be able to put behind the memories of pain and loss and humiliation and simply view the spectacle as an old man longing to smile and be entertained? Dwarkanath did not know, but he was keen to find out. It was a feeling he had never had before, and the twisting in his gut made Dwarkanath both excited and uneasy.
FROM 15. 9. 95. IMPERIAL CIRCUS! DAILY 3 SHOWS: 1, 4 & 7 PM! LAKSHMAN MELA GROUNDS, CIVIL LINES, LUCKNOW. Painted in cheap watercolours were an elephant with giant tuskers, a devilish ringmaster with wide eyes and an exotic, garish, ruby-studded turban, a scantily-clad Bedouin dancer and a clown’s face. Certainly the means of advertising had improved since my day, Dwarkanath thought to himself.
Reading over the poster several times, something stirred inside the old man. It was close to excitement and nostalgia and intrigue. Dwarkanath had not been anywhere near a circus for nearly twenty-two years. Now he was overcome with an urge to return, but as a spectator. Would he be able to put behind the memories of pain and loss and humiliation and simply view the spectacle as an old man longing to smile and be entertained? Dwarkanath did not know, but he was keen to find out. It was a feeling he had never had before, and the twisting in his gut made Dwarkanath both excited and uneasy. And so he decided to make the eighty-nine kilometre journey to Lucknow.
Three days later, Dwarkanath took the bus to Lucknow, without anyone in the Sarai Bheem Singh district near the Government Cantonment of Sitapur knowing that he had left his humble quarters. The bus reached Lucknow at near five o’clock, leaving Dwarkanath two hours to reach the Lakshman Mela Grounds. He soon found out that his destination was less than a kilometre from where the bus had stopped along the dusty highway, and easily found a place in a shared auto-rickshaw with a young couple and two college students.
The rickshaw driver weaved the vehicle through a crowded by-lane after cutting off a main artery off of Butler Road, and stopped to let Dwarkanath off. Dwarkanath paid the man seven rupees and turned to face a huge tent, stained a dull yellowish-grey with years of rain and grime and heat, with a make-shift booth near the entrance. Behind the booth was a thin, dark man with pale eyes smoking a cigarette while checking the contents of a small tin box.
Dwarkanath approached the man, who didn’t look up as his shadow fell across the booth. “Excuse me, how much for a ticket?” asked Dwarkanath.
“Ten rupees general seating, twenty rupees ring side,” was the flat, hurried reply from the thin, dark man who was now rummaging through the box in an irritated manner.
Dwarkanath’s mind flashed back to his performing days and of the faces he remembered sitting in the ring side seats across countless cities and towns. Fat, red-faced businessmen with blonde, blue-eyed whores by their sides in Tashkent; wide-eyed schoolboys in Moscow; the odd attractive female face in Paris or Berlin.
“So what’s it going to be, uncle?” The man seated behind the table now looked up at Dwarkanath. Smoke from the cigarette in his mouth was making one eye water, but he did nothing to remedy the situation.
“Ring side,” said Dwarkanath as he reached into his left breast pocket and produced two faded ten rupee notes.
“Good choice.” With that, the man handed over a ticket, pink and leafy, to Dwarkanath. “You can line up over there and the door will open fifteen minutes before the show.”
Dwarkanath thanked the man, looked at his watch. Another hour and a half to go. There was a tea shop in the middle of a row of stores behind Dwarkanath. He crossed the street and sat down on a wooden bench and ordered a cup of tea. Dwarkanath looked over at the giant tent which housed the Imperial Circus.
He wondered what the performers and animals were doing, what routines they may be rehearsing and what jokes they may be telling each other to lighten the mood. He thought about where this troupe of clowns, wrestlers, trapeze artists, dancers, fire-breathers and midgets may have come from. Delhi, via Japan and Uzbekistan? Now they would all travel by air, which surely made life easier. Would it free up time to see more cities? Was life as rigorous as it had been forty years ago? Dwarkanath was now tempted to walk behind the tent and see if he could meet some of the circus performers, ask them about their feats and travels and hear their tales of love and loss.
As he sipped his tea, Dwarkanath was again overcome by an emotion he had seldom felt during his years with the Ringwald Circus – nostalgia. Now he missed the smell of the tent and sweat and the animals and the food cooked by the Uzbek horsemen and the sounds of the crowd cheering and whips cracking and the melodies of the accordion and beat of the drum and the sense of anticipation that came when he watched from behind the curtains as Suleiman the fire-breather went through his motions and Helga flipped from wire to wire fifty feet in the air as children below gasped and mothers closed their eyes in fear.
Time passed slowly, and Pundir had another cup of tea and read the newspaper. Later, he saw people began to line up outside the tent and then file inside. Children, mostly, some accompanied by parents and some in groups of six or ten or more, but there were also old men like Dwarkanath, shifting along almost aimlessly as the line snaked inside the awning of the tent’s entrance. Dwarkanath joined the procession, which he noticed had a ghostly feel to it as the sun set in front of it and the insides of the giant and dull tent came alive with the sound of music and moving chairs.
Once inside, Dwarkanath made his way to his seat which was in the second row from the front. The tent was not full by any means, and Dwarkanath found it odd considering how healthy the queue outside had been. The inside of the tent seemed smaller than it had looked from outside. The familiar smell of dirt and hay and damp animal fur and urine acquainted itself with Dwarkanath and he sat back in his chair, a slight smile lifting the corners of his cheeks. Dwarkanath felt very much at ease, a feeling he had not had for a very long time. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he looked at the cage in front. People milled in and took their seats and their chatter built up a gentle hum which to Dwarkanath’s ears was like a symphony. Though it had been years since Dwarkanath had heard that sound, he began to sway in its rhythm, as he had as a twenty-something before a show all those years ago. His feet, now heavy and coarse, moved gently on the thick red carpet.
Soon the lights dimmed and a drum rattled in the darkness. Voices boomed from in front of the audience, startling a little girl sitting with her mother and father a few seats to Dwarkanath’s right. At first, a man’s growl: “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, are you ready for the show?” A murmur of anticipation and expectation emanated from the mosaic of wooden folding chairs. Then, a woman’s, throaty and accented: “Tonight’s show is no ordinary show. No! We have for you, an extraordinary line-up of monkeys, lions, tigers and dancers!”
Then, the man: “Wrestlers, clowns, elephants, midgets and monsters!” No body moved in the audience. The little girl to Dwarkanath’s left sat on the edge of her seat. “This show will blow you and your family and friends away with unbelievable animal and acrobatic stunts!”
“A fantastic show indeed!” bellowed the accented woman’s voice as the drum beat picked up. “So now, without further ado, let the show begin!” The last four words were yelled out in short, strong bursts as the lights began to come up on the stage before Dwarkanath. At the same time a tingling sensation began in his chest and lifted up to his chin. He clutched his cane tighter, knobby fingers creaking as they clasped the wooden handle.
Then the lights came on, and children in the audience gasped. In the centre of the cage was a short, stout man with a twirled moustache and top hat, standing eye-to-eye with three tigers. These were not the grizzled, haggard tigers Dwarkanath had expected to see, somewhere in the caverns of his memory, but rather ferocious, healthy beasts with lovely thick skin. The animal trainer in the top hat wore a very professional and experienced look, far different from the sleazy, rag-tag frauds that Dwarkanath had known, and watching the little man he imagined a dynamic expert with a rare ability to communicate with animals and ride rearing stallions at a fully-charged gallop while orchestrating grandiose Asian elephants.
Behind the cage two clowns on stilts stood smiling, one juggling and the other holding an accordion. To the left of the cage was a hulk of a man, bald and bare-chested and with kohl-rimmed eyes and two rings in his ears. He had in his hands a rope and at his feet were two barbells. On the other side of the cage and the stout man and the three grand tigers were two beautiful and black-haired women in gypsy attire, their smooth, flat navels covered by a transparent veil. Their large bosoms threatened to burst out of their blouses and protuberant and provocative bottoms twitched in eagerness.
From behind a curtain emerged the ringmaster, the same devilish man Dwarkanath had seen on the flier back in Sitapur. “Hello and welcome to the Imperial Circus!” It was the same bellowing voice the audience had heard moments ago after being plunged into darkness. “We have terrific show for you tonight, friends. Prepare to be dazzled, thrilled and even frightened by the marvels before you!”
Dwarkanath was transfixed on the ringmaster, following his every word like a child. His eyes had opened and his brow was raised, while his fingers twittered over the wooden handle of his cane.
“Tonight you will feel the ground beneath you shake when Humayun the Giant enters the arena. He will lift in the air a telephone pole and twirl it above his head like a stick, and carry on his broad shoulders three acrobats while they cycle and juggle! You will shake with laughter as our trio of clowns get up to silly mischief and crackle with excitement when Zubeida and Hameeda swing from the rafters and somersault through the air! Our masters from Belgrade will amaze you with their high-wire tricks and dangerous stunts! We have fire-breathers and wild animals as well and Chinese midgets who will emerge from tiny boxes and perform extreme jumps and twists inside moving wheels! Are you ready?”
The crowd responded by clapping fiercely. As Dwarkanath turned his head in amazement at the applause, he noticed that the tent was well lighted with coloured bulbs; incandescent yellows and oranges and reds.
“Then without further delay, let us begin the greatest show on earth!” The ringmaster then disappeared behind the curtain, his cape slithering along the wooden platform. The familiar sound of circus music filled the air and Dwarkanath leaned forward ever so slightly in his chair.
The short man in the top hat cracked his whip and the three tigers rose in unison. The drum began to beat again as the trainer moved his arms about to get the tigers’ attention. He began by getting the beasts to roll over and lie down, and then walk on their hind legs. This got the children in the audience excited. Dwarkanath knew that each of the tigers’ stunts was based upon their individual tendencies and behaviours, which the man in the top hat would have observed closely during play time.
Soon a midget emerged and lit on fire a large ring. On the trainer’s crack of the whip, each of the tigers jumped through the ring of fire. This was repeated several times, to the audience’s immense satisfaction. The gasps and claps from all around him settled Dwarkanath into a comfortable haze, and he found himself feeling decidedly light.
As the animal trainer took the tigers out of the cage to rapturous applause, the ringmaster reemerged from behind the curtain, but Dwarkanath could not make out what he was saying. The man’s mouth was moving but the words were indecipherable to Dwarkanath, as was the noise of the captivated audience. Dwarkanath was in a trance. He had a sloppy grin on his face and his eyes were glazed over. No one noticed.
His eyes moved from person to person and animal to animal, stilt to whip and clown to acrobat. Never had he been so enthralled. High in the air, bounding with perfect balance and precision timing, Zubeida and Hameeda stunned the spectators with their acrobatic spirals through space. Suddenly Dwarkanath blinked. Momentarily he was snapped out of his trance. Was what he saw possible? The silken gypsy pair that had ascended the ladder leading to the roof of the tent had been Zubeida and Hameeda, buxom yet feline, but the pair performing courageous and beautiful feats high above in the air were Gul and Sanam, the Turkish sisters with whom he had performed many a night on tour with the Ringwald Circus all those years ago.
Everything became a delightful blur for Dwarkanath, an ecstasy of elephants and show girls in glimmering costumes, acrobats, and clowns providing a colourful backdrop to the death-defying feats of the aerial artists. He was a child, clapping and laughing and gasping.
Dwarkanath rubbed his eyes and squinted upwards. Yes, it was indeed Gul and Sanam! He could not believe it. His smile widened as he watched the Turkish twins manoeuvre themselves acrobatically while suspended high above the circus ring, as graceful as a ballet yet daring and dangerous. Dwarkanath recognised the moves instantly, and marvelled at how graceful the sisters were. The lively women performed their signature moves, including hanging by only their feet and toes. Dwarkanath clapped with excitement.
Then he noticed another familiar face, that of Ivan the cyclist. Ivan, with whom he had shared goulash and sipped sweet grape juice with in Budapest, and shared stories of the village. How was it possible? As Ivan and his fellow cyclists began their tricks, two portly clowns stepped onstage and got the audience laughing with their imitation of the balancing tricks. Dwarkanath recognised them as Andriy and Vasyl, from the Ukraine. Oh, how these two clowns used to make people laugh back in the day!
Hilarious hoopla ensued as the comedic duo of Andriy and Vasyl displayed their talents with musical acts, tumbling, and the customary practical jokes. Next were Ling and Lee, the Chinese midget contortionists, whose athletic performances convinced the audience that their bodies were made of rubber. This was the same Chinese pair which used to steal and skin and devour Vladimir’s dogs on tour, much to the Russian animal trainer’s disgust and anger. Dwarkanath laughed as he remembered Vladimir chasing Ling and Lee with a meat cleaver in hand, and how, panting and puffing and cursing, he waved his fists at the two midget contortionists as they disappeared down a chute or scaled a mountain of crates. For their finale tonight, Ling and Lee performed repetitive push-ups while balanced in handstands with their legs tucked under their armpits. Dwarkanath swore Ling had picked him out in the crowd and winked as he and his twin brother soaked up the applause.
Act after act unfolded, and each person was recognisable to Dwarkanath. These were acrobats and performers and trainers and animals with which he had eaten and shared meals with. He knew their every move, each act and routine. They all looked so young, just as they had been when he first met them in 1949.
There was Katya, with her blood-red lips and hazel eyes, smiling and cooing as dagger after dagger thrown by Herman the German narrowly missed her. Dwarkanath had pined for Katya but never mustered the courage to speak more than a few errant words to her during all those boat and bus and train journey across Europe. Dwarkanath’s mouth dropped in astonishment as it had when he was in his twenties, and he marvelled at how none of the daggers pierced Katya’s body. Her eyes were as beautiful and young and bright now as they had been forty years ago, while Dwarkanath’s were yellow, sad and only his.
He saw Helga, and was still as astonished and amused by her walking on a wire in mid-air with an umbrella in hand as he had been when he first saw her act. Ruslana’s rope dancing was still as astonishing. The muscle control of Konstantyn the body builder was still as inspiring. The thrill that came from watching Gul and Sanam execute the shoulder to shoulder leap, three stories high, was immeasurable.
Everything became a delightful blur for Dwarkanath, an ecstasy of elephants and show girls in glimmering costumes, acrobats, and clowns providing a colourful backdrop to the death-defying feats of the aerial artists. He was a child, clapping and laughing and gasping. He wanted to join his friends and accomplices and dance on stage and lift weights and wrestle with Herman the German. He had not experienced such enjoyment for years, and this made Dwarkanath a very happy man.
*
The noise around him escalated into a tumultuous din as the crowd clapped heartily and cheered and whistled as the magical show reached its crescendo. The trainer Winston Douglas les two elephants through numerous dance numbers, as the two clowns on stilts swayed to the beats of the accordion, piano, trumpet and drums. All the performers then gathered for one final time to pay their farewells, wishing the captive audience that all its days be circus days.
As the fully satisfied, buzzing crowd made their way out of the tent, which by now was warm and glowing, the little girl who had begun the evening on the edge of her seat, holding her mother’s hand tightly, let go of it as she pointed across a few seats.
“Look, mama …”
The mother followed her daughter’s signal and saw, leaning back in his seat, perfectly comfortable in the wooden fold-up chair and with his head tilted upwards to the roof of the tent, and old man. His eyes were shut and he smiled a deep, peaceful smile.
The smiles warmed the mother’s heart, before she realised that the old man was dead. Dwarkanath Pundir had breathed his last during the magical spectacle, and with plenty of reason to smile.
***
Jamie Alter is a sports writer and journalist in the digital world, having covered cricket around the world including three World Cups. After nearly five years working for ESPNcricinfo, Jamie served as Sports Editor of the Times of India Digital, Cricbuzz, Cricketnext and most recently as Group Sports Editor (Digital) at Zee Media. He also also authored two cricket-related books and dabbled in acting. You can find him on Twitter: @alter_jamie.
